Friend in Need
by Eden Evergreen
Summary: Before the anime or manga, Vash was befriended by Seeds. Although, apparently, everyone there considered him family... a few were closer than the others. This tale imagines earlier meetings between Vash, Doc, and others from Seeds.
1. Bad News

_**Note**_ _: I do not own Trigun, "Vash 'the Stampede'" nor Doc, nor any of the other canon Trigun characters. They all belong to the incomparable Mr. Yasuhiro Nightow._

 _The story prompt, which led to this tale, came from JasperK. If I did well, then JasperK deserves part of the credit. If I did poorly, that's probably just me. - sheepish -_

 _Since it was JasperK's idea, this tale is dedicated to JasperK. :)_

 _There are mild to moderate_ _ **spoilers**_ _(manga) if you don't know who Tessla was or haven't seen (or read about) the day of the Great Fall. I have tried to write this story so that fans of either version can be entertained by it._

 _This tale begins decades prior to the time of Trigun's anime / manga._

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 **Friend in Need**

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 **Chapter 1: Bad News**

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 _Star Year 0089, month 12 day 18, Great Melba Border Sand Ocean, near Seeds_

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Vash held up a hand to shield his eyes from the brightness of the suns. The day had reached late afternoon. His destination was to the west, which left the lowering suns near enough to the horizon that he must shield his eyes as he searched for landmarks.

He shrugged his shoulders and adjusted the cloak he wore over his coat. His breath immediately formed a frigid mist in front of his face.

Even in late afternoon, the arid winter air was so chilly that the cold seemed to soak through all of his clothing. He had taken the precaution of adding a shirt and pants over his body armor and beneath his coat, but he didn't seem to feel any warmer from the extra layer. His face, and ears, and the three fingers which were not encased in leather, were all beginning to feel numb from the cold.

He switched which hand held the drawstring handle of his duffel bag, again, so that he could stuff his right hand into a pocket to warm it.

The other hand was nearly immune to the cold, but his shoulder would quickly grow sore if he always used that side to carry his duffel. Between the weight of the duffel, and the extra weight of the hidden gun (along with the mechanisms which concealed it), he was compelled to avoid using the left hand exclusively for carrying his duffel. So the best he could do was to occasionally swap sides, to keep either hand or shoulder from complaining too much.

The frigid air was hazy. Very little breeze stirred amid the haze. Sand powder filled the winter air thickly enough to make his eyes sting and water, even if he were not already crying. It had thoroughly coated his skin, and hair, and clothing.

At the moment, it felt as if he were suffering his own version of Tantalus' punishment. He wanted to reach Seeds village. Seeing and smelling that particular variety of sand powder was usually a welcome sign of drawing nearer to it. Unfortunately, today, it had blown farther across the Melba border sand ocean than usual. He'd been surrounded by this distinctive sand powder for several hours, but he had not yet reached the chasm which stretched between the sand ocean and Seeds village.

Far in the distance, he could barely distinguish a carrion bird circling. He paused to watch. Shortly, the bird moved to circle another area. The new circle was far distant from the first.

Vash sighed in relief. Since the bird continued searching, it had found nothing. It was not hopefully following any travelers in distress. He could continue his planned journey without interruption. He felt a little guilty for that selfish relief, but he pushed aside both guilt and relief... and walked on.

He always felt melancholy, at best, on this date. Most years, he spent the entire day alone in the desert. He remembered, pondered, and mourned. This year, instead of finding solitude desirable, he wished to avoid it. He had no idea why.

Today was the anniversary of a sister Plant's death. Tessla, an independent Plant like himself, had lived for less than a year. She had died 131 years ago, two years before he had ever existed. He never had an opportunity to meet her, or to know her. Yet her brief life had a profound effect on his own.

Vash hoped again that Rem had hugged Tessla often. But, of course, she would have - if the others did not prevent her. He hoped they had not prevented, as he felt more tears fall from his eyes and make their own tracks down his dusty face. He still suspected that Rem was responsible for the toys, seen in the pictures of Tessla, from when she was so small that she crawled because she could not yet walk.

He sighed sadly, mourning Rem, also, as he remembered her. Then, for the moment, he pushed all thoughts of the past aside. For unrelated reasons, his travels had brought him near to Seeds village. He chose to visit those friends, today, instead of spending the whole day mourning alone. Perhaps, in the company of his Seeds friends, his soul could find a measure of peace ... even if that peace was only temporary.

Yet much of the day was already spent, and he remained alone. The haze had obscured his vision enough to slow his progress. When he craved companionship so deeply, it was difficult to be patient with the process of walking across the desert. Instead of seeing and feeling the beauties of the desert, today all he felt was its relentless harshness.

"Ah, there it is!"

He nearly startled, when he heard his own voice speaking those words. It happened when he finally saw the desert-side cable-car platform in the distance. According to long-standing custom, the cable car was waiting on the desert side of its run, instead of across the chasm nearer to the village and the ship.

His steps quickened at the sight of that distant human-made structure. He also surprised himself by feeling an entirely spontaneous smile appear on his tear-streaked face. It had been nearly four years since his last visit. He must be missing the Seeds villagers more than he'd realized.

He reached the platform. He quickly climbed into the waiting cable car, and began his trip across the chasm. The car was such a fragile thing, much like a life. It would take so very little to send it hurtling to destruction...

He was crying again.

Vash shook himself and deliberately turned his thoughts toward the upcoming reunion instead. Musing on the surprised expressions of Doc, Leta, Dustin, Brother Reeve, and other friends, caused a fragile smile to appear on his face again.

Then, as the cable car drew near to the Seeds side of the chasm, it happened.

External emotions surrounded him. The impact of those emotional echoes was so great that it was nearly physical, as if a heavy wall had fallen on him and was nearly crushing his life out of him.

(Please God... bring Mama back!)

Vash gasped with the intensity of the other soul's pain, as his fragile smile vanished beyond recall. Fresh tears welled up in his eyes, soon spilling down his face and onto his neck and coat. Helpless against the onslaught of emotional agony, he sagged against the gondola seat and sobbed broken-heartedly.

Though extremely rare, this was not the first time such an unlikely thing had happened. It might not be the last.

Vash had learned, long ago, that his own senses were able to detect things which ordinary humans' senses could not. If he was near enough, and there was no contrary breeze (or no overpowering scents, which had happened a few times), he could easily catch the scent of the biochemical changes which human emotions caused. Over time, beginning with Rem, he had learned which scent meant what emotion. That information had assisted him in getting out of some very difficult situations.

On an average day, only Plants could rattle him with the intensity of their emotions. Thankfully, most of his orb-dwelling "sister" Plants, encased in their large glasslike bulbs, were generally content. They would seldom broadcast their emotions with this much intensity, unless a new individual was emerging... or else one was near death. When either happened, the echoes of their emotions could be nearly deafening.

He thought of all external emotions he felt as "echoes." Because, he reasoned, if it were a sound instead of a feeling, it would only be an echo of the emotion instead of the emotion itself. It wasn't his, it belonged to someone else.

Although it did happen, sensing emotional echoes from an ordinary human was distinctly uncommon. It only seemed to happen when it was an especially strong emotion, and, even then, it was most likely that he would sense it only faintly even if he were in the same room.

When Vash sensed echoes of an ordinary human's emotion(s), it was usually similar to the effect of someone speaking in a different room nearby. There were only murmurs, like voices muffled by distance and a wall, leaving details such as words entirely indistinguishable. A tone of voice could come through, and perhaps one could discern the gender of the speaker. Maybe it would be possible to sense whether the speaker was a child, or an adult. But that would be all. It could be challenging to discover from whom such emotions came.

Body language was his greatest ally in detecting the source of most external emotions he detected. It didn't matter if it was by scent or by "echoes," he had to watch people to see who was most likely to be radiating those feelings.

Far less frequently, an emotional echo might come with added information. A secondary emotion might help to define the first. Or, even less often, a vague concept might also be present. For example, if what he had just sensed were in the nebulous notion category, instead of coming with words, then he might, perhaps, have sensed the idea of "mother."

Although it might not even have been that clear.

If he were ever to attempt describing that situation to an ordinary human, he might say it resembled a hazy image of the suns, which one could only see dimly through an _extremely_ dusty window (on a day like today, when the air was also thoroughly dusty and hazy). Or else he might compare it to an image of the suns reflected on a mirror, which was so extremely dirty that it was almost impossible to see more than a vague light and shadow. In either case, it might be difficult to see the lesser sun. Such nebulous, unclear concepts would still provide neither specifics nor details.

He didn't know why so few "overheard" emotions, or emotional "echoes," came with added information. Perhaps the strength of the mind(s) in question made a difference. Perhaps it was something else. He shrugged. He dared not ask anyone, which left him with insufficient data. He might never know how or why he occasionally sensed something more than simply the strongest emotion from a few ordinary humans.

What he'd detected a few seconds ago was the very rarest of the rare. During the 129 years he'd lived thus far, he had only encountered it thrice previously.

He wasn't sure how or why it happened. He could only guess.

Those few, rare occasions when he actually overheard thoughts, the thoughts had _always_ been heartfelt, desperate pleas. Perhaps those few people, when praying, willed so strongly to communicate that he had overheard part of their prayers. The desperately praying person had always been less than two iles away, when he overheard their thoughts.

He and Knives had been able to share thoughts with each other at will, as children. They had not used their telepathic abilities much, not since the Great Fall. He hadn't wanted such intimacy with his brother, after he changed so severely. Apparently, Knives had a similar disinclination.

When he and Knives had traded messages by thought, it was an agreed-upon, deliberate act for both of them. Each would concentrate to transmit thoughts he wished to share with the other, knowing those thoughts would be heard. Neither could "overhear" the other's thoughts, though it was possible to nudge at the other's mind and encourage sharing.

Overheard thoughts were very different. Each overheard thought had been intended to communicate... but _not with him_. Vash felt as if he'd accidentally opened someone else's mail. Which, he realized as he considered it, wasn't far from the truth.

Although he didn't know why he'd overheard, he did know that someone nearby was hurting worse than he was. Her wound was new. His soul's injury had healed into a scar, although that scar continued hurting and aching. Perhaps, if he found this child, he could comfort her, at least a little. Hopefully, enough to prevent her current circumstances from becoming an endless source of pain to her, as his had become to him.

Her? Yes. That information was somehow included in the emotional content connected to the overheard prayer. Somewhere, in Seeds village, a young girl's mother had recently gone away. Or, perhaps, her mother had recently died.

He knew it was presumptuous of him to approach someone who prayed, with intent to answer (if he could) any part of their prayer. He might not have wings as the bulb-dwelling Plants did, yet he could still try to behave as an angel might. **

He wondered... since anything was possible... had God _wanted_ him to be part of the answer to that prayer? For all he knew, that could be the unknown reason why he'd changed his usual habit for the day. He hadn't planned to visit Seeds, until two days ago. As far as he'd known, it was merely a whim.

Yet it was a whim he could not explain. He wondered if that is truly all it was. Did God, perhaps, nudge at people's minds? Had he been nudged in this direction?

He shook his head, still sobbing helplessly.

Regardless of why he was in range, Vash was constitutionally incapable of hearing that cry for help without responding. He wanted to comfort the child, even if he could not cure the cause of her pain.

He would never forget the first time he'd overheard a prayer. It happened on the day of the Great Fall. That very first overheard prayer had been Rem's. She had asked that he and Knives would live, and walk "the same path." Vash thought she'd meant the same path as she had taught them. If so, most of her prayer had been answered. They had both survived the Great Fall. He did his best to walk a path which was as near as possible to the principles she had taught them.

Sadly, Knives had chosen a profoundly different path. All of Vash's efforts, thus far, to persuade his brother to return to following Rem's teachings... had failed, miserably.

He sighed sadly, and pulled a handkerchief from a pocket. He didn't feel equal to answering questions about why he'd been crying, so he tried to pull himself together and dry his face as the cable car drew ever nearer to Seeds' side of the chasm it crossed.

In time, the cable car reached the Seeds-side platform. He was still sniffling.

Vash wiped his face one last time, disembarked, and sent the car back across. As he did so, he was aware of a flurry of activity in the nearby guards' booth. They were certainly notifying the Council, and most likely a few others also.

They called greetings to him.

As he turned around, he managed to smile at them. It was an expression of gratitude, for their warm welcome. His burden of sorrow must not become theirs to bear. He was genuinely glad to see them. It was simply a joy diminished by the burdens of his own sorrows, and of the unknown child's anguish.

"How is everyone?" he asked.

"Most of us are doing well," George said solemnly. "But Vash, I'm sorry to have to tell you... Leta died this morning."

"Leta..." Vash winced. "I'm... very sorry for your loss. She was a remarkable woman. What... what happened?"

"Complications during childbirth," Sam said sadly. "Her little son didn't survive, either. Our medical staff tried, but he was almost three months premature."

"How's Dustin?" Vash said.

Dustin had doted on Leta, since they were very young. The two had always been close friends. Prior to their courtship, each had confided to Vash a fondness for the other... along with worries of their own inadequacies. He'd nudged the two to speak to each other, and their mutually bashful affection (and delight) had been a joy to behold. As far as he knew, nobody had been surprised when the young couple wed. The only surprise had been that they waited until his next visit, because they wanted him to attend.

Doc had helped his niece and her intended husband, by sending a radio message encouraging Vash to visit. He had included the reason why.

Vash had happily tied up his business elsewhere. He stood beside Dustin, as Leta walked up the aisle in her wedding gown. It had been a beautiful wedding. Vash had shed many tears of happiness for them, and enjoyed many doughnuts at their reception.

"Dustin and Lu are both devastated." Sam said. "Doc is hurting, too."

"Of course he would be," Vash said sympathetically. "She was his niece, and they'd always been close. And... Lu?"

"Dustin and Leta's daughter," Sam said. "You wouldn't have met her, yet. She was the baby Leta had barely realized she was expecting, during your last visit. Lu is nearly three, so young to lose her mother..."

"I see," Vash said sadly.

He did see. Lu must be the child whose prayer he'd overheard. The mother had not simply gone on a journey, as he'd initially hoped. Nor was it a divorce, as he'd known was a sadder possibility. Either of those situations could be mended. Death could not.

"I'll go to them," Vash decided. "I can't restore Leta, but I can mourn her with them."

"I'm sure they would appreciate that."

Vash nodded to the guards, and then walked away toward Dustin's house.

He considered detouring to the ship, to clean up. But he decided against that. He wanted them to know he came straight to them, as soon as he'd arrived. He found a place, only a few steps from the most direct path to Dustin's house, where he was unlikely to be observed. He shook himself, and brushed off as much dust as he could from his cloak and coat. He bent over and shook his head, too, and then ran his fingers through his hair in an effort to set it to rights. That would have to do.

When he had nearly reached the house, his control slipped briefly. He had to pause, to wipe at his eyes again. As he was stuffing his handkerchief back into his pocket, he saw Brother Reeve coming away from the bereaved household.

"Vash!" the aging clergyman said, sounding pleased even though he wasn't smiling. He came closer, and shook Vash's hand. "It's good to see you, though I could wish the circumstances were better."

"I heard about Leta," Vash said softly. "She will be sorely missed."

"Yes, she will," he agreed.

"How are your brother, and his family?" Vash asked.

"Oh, they're all thriving," Brother Reeve said fondly, "though mourning Leta along with everyone else. The grandchildren are a little young to really understand, though they are subdued by the solemnity of the adults."

Vash nodded, and then thought of something less sorrowful to discuss.

"The last time we spoke, you mentioned seeking someone to take on as an apprentice, of sorts," Vash said. "You hoped to find someone who would begin learning to do your job, and who might continue after you retire. Did you find someone?"

"One must be wary what they say to you," Brother Reeve said, smiling briefly. "You always remember! Yes, I may have found my 'apprentice.' The youngest Garcia boy is interested. He's been showing interest in becoming a clergyman for the past two years. He's only fourteen now, so a little young to begin serious training. However, in another year or two, if he's still interested..."

Vash tried to smile in return. However, he was too worried about the little girl to smile fully. He could still feel echoes of her pain, though he was controlling himself enough better that he was no longer sobbing. His eyes held unshed tears, though.

"Your burden is similar to mine," Brother Reeve said, gently acknowledging what he saw in Vash's eyes. "You want to help them, even though you can't restore the one they lost. Go to them. I know your presence will be a comfort to them."

"Take care of yourself," Vash said, nodding in a manner that was nearly a bow.

"God bless you," the aging clergyman responded, using a similar nod.

They passed each other, without another word, in mutual friendship.

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** **Note** : _This chapter comes decades before Vash's feathers (or wings) would have manifested, according to the manga, in Star Year 104. He probably already knew that bulb-dwelling Plants could have them. However, he might not have known that he could - at least, not yet._


	2. Tears

_**Note**_ _: I do not own Trigun, "Vash 'the Stampede'" nor Doc, nor any of the other canon Trigun characters. They all belong to the incomparable Mr. Yasuhiro Nightow._

 _This tale begins decades prior to the time of Trigun's anime / manga._

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 **Friend in Need**

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 **Chapter 2: Tears**

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 _Star Year 0089, month 12 day 18, Seeds Village_

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Vash's gentle knock at the bereaved household's door was soon answered by Doc.

"Vash?" he said hoarsely. He managed a brief half-smile, even though his eyes were both red and filled with unshed tears. "It's good to see you, my friend, even though..."

"I heard," Vash said gently, "and I'm very sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," Doc managed to say, though his voice broke.

Vash knelt and hugged the man. He knew that Doc was close to his sister, who had died young. Today Leta, her daughter, whom he'd raised and loved as if she were his own daughter, had also died. It was no surprise that this sudden loss would hit him hard.

Vash already had more experience with out-living friends than he wanted. He knew that the future would bring many more such losses. He tried to prevent his awareness that he would one day lose them from overshadowing any present joys in knowing them. Instead, he focused on enjoying whatever time he was blessed to have with each.

"How are you all holding up?" Vash asked softly, as he released his grieving friend from the hug. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Dustin collapsed," Doc said. "He adored Leta beyond all reason. He's been given something to help him rest, and he's sleeping now."

"I hope that resting will help him recover," Vash said. "Sam mentioned a daughter?"

"Yes, Lu," Doc said, smiling even as fresh tears flowed down his face. "She's usually such a happy child. Today, though, she's so silent. I'm worried about her. She's curled up in a corner, and I can't coax her out. I just don't know what to do."

Vash gently laid his natural hand on his friend's shoulder. "May I try?" he asked.

"You do have a way with children," Doc said. "Please do. I will appreciate your effort, even if she doesn't."

Vash dropped his bag off his shoulder, and rested it against the wall behind the door. Clouds of dust spread out from it. Vash winced, but turned away from it. He took off his cloak and coat, hung them on nearby hooks, and then turned toward Doc.

"Where is she?" he asked.

Doc closed the front door behind Vash, and then led him to an upstairs room. In the far corner, a small dark-haired girl was sitting on the floor. She was hugging her own knees against her chest. Her little face was wet and showed tear streaks, though she wasn't crying at the moment. She stared toward a window. However, the empty expression on her face, and the anguish in her eyes, suggested that she wasn't seeing it.

"Lu, this is Vash," Doc said. "He's a friend of your parents' and he is my friend, also. Can you say hello to him?"

Lu didn't move. Nor did she look at them. She didn't even blink.

Vash gently rested his natural hand on Doc's shoulder. "It's okay," he said, very softly.

Doc nodded. He stood and stared at the girl for a few heartbeats, and then he slowly turned and left the room.

Vash's heart ached for his friend. It was the first time he'd seen the man acting old. He hesitated, briefly considering returning to make an effort to comfort Doc more directly. But Doc had specifically requested that he try to comfort Lu. And the emotional echoes he'd detected, before even reaching this house, had grown stronger as he approached.

Lu had to be the source. Which meant she needed help as much as, if not more than, anyone else in this house.

Vash sat down on the floor, a short distance from her. He drew up his long legs and hugged them against his chest. His position resembled hers. It also allowed him to make himself as small as possible. He carefully positioned himself about the distance of her arm's length away from her, facing her. She could reach out and touch him, if she wished.

As he looked at her, concerned, he realized that he understood _exactly_ how she felt. Swirling around his soul, Vash felt Lu's nearly Plant-strength emotional echoes. He felt echoes of the same emotions he'd felt on the day when he'd lost Rem. In addition to losing her mother, this child's brother had also died today.

He remembered how he felt when he first learned about Tessla, and how she had died. He remembered how he felt, as he learned that he'd lost the closeness he had previously shared with his brother.

"My mother died, too," he said, so softly that his voice was barely louder than a whisper.

Lu startled and looked up enough to study his face. "Who are you?"

"I'm a friend of your parents, and your uncle Doc's," Vash said. "I'd like to be your friend, too, if I may."

Although he could see her mother's influence in her coloring, the shape of her face and eyes bore a stronger resemblance to her father. Leta had been the first person he'd met whose personality strongly reminded him of Rem. Now Leta, like Rem, was only a memory.

Except for this very young girl, who sat near him with her sad eyes and broken heart.

"Mama's gone," Lu said softly. She turned her face away from him, looking again toward the window. "Papa's gone inside, though his outside is still here. Uncle is busy taking care of Papa and everybody else. If Mama doesn't come back, I want to go, too. I'm only in the way. Nobody wants me."

"Not true," Vash said gently yet firmly. "Part of every parent lives on inside of their child. Each time they see you, it will help Leta's friends to feel like she's not gone, or at least not completely. Everyone who knew her will want you for that, if nothing else. In time, they will know you better. Eventually, they will know you well enough to love you for yourself. You just need to be patient with them."

Lu turned her head to look toward him, again.

"How can you know that?" she asked, her dark eyes searching. "I'm just a little kid."

"Your uncle told me a few things," Vash said. "I can see more for myself."

"What do you see?"

"I see again the day my mother died," he said sadly. "She was much like yours: gentle and giving, wise and wonderful. When I met your mother, sometimes it felt almost like my mother was alive again. Now Leta is gone, too. Yet you are here. You might be just as wonderful as she was. I don't know yet, though I'd like to find out."

She turned her face away. "I'm not wonderful," she said. "Mama was, though, wasn't she? Maybe my brother would have been, if he had lived. I didn't even get to know him..."

She bowed her head, resting her face on her knees, and cried.

"My sister died, before I could know her," Vash said softly. He reached out with his natural hand, leaning forward slightly. He gently rested his hand on her shoulder.

After a short while, her sobs slowed. She remained tense, but she didn't shrug off or brush away his hand. Her voice came, slightly muffled, yet her words were clear.

"You lost your mother," she sniffled, interrupting herself, and then continued, " _and_ your sister, b-both of them?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"When I was about your age," he said.

It was a minor exaggeration, but it suited the need of the moment. A precise explanation could not help her as much as that summary might.

She uncurled and stood up, without shaking off his hand. She stepped toward him, toward his left side. She put one small arm around his neck, and the other around his shoulder. She was so small that she could stand at her full height and do that, while he sat on the floor. She bent her neck, to snuggle her face against the place where his neck and shoulder met.

"Then you know," she said, her voice breaking on the last word. She cried again.

Vash uncurled his legs enough to make the hug work more comfortably for both of them. He put his left arm around her small body, and stroked her hair with his right hand.

"Yes," he said, again speaking barely above a whisper. "I know."

He didn't know how he'd maintained a veneer of calm, under the onslaught of the echoes of her pain. As she clung to him, and cried, that veneer crumbled. Fortunately, he no longer needed to behave as a calm adult.

They cried together, for a time. Vash did not attempt to measure the time, as it happened, for that would diminish its meaning. It was a rare situation, where he and another soul completely understood each other. They were in perfect empathy... even if the source of that empathy and understanding was mutual grief.

Both cried for Leta, young Lu's lost mother, and for her baby brother who died before he could receive a name.

Vash also cried for his own lost mothers (both his biological mother, and his foster mother, Rem, who were lost in the Great Fall), and for his lost sister, Tessla. He also wept, at least a little, from the pain of losing the close friendship he and his brother had shared, before they learned of Tessla and her fate.

Lu didn't stop crying, until she cried herself to sleep.

Vash's tears continued, silently, as he waited for her to relax.

He cradled the small child in his arms, as she slowly began to relax in her sleep. Tessla would have appeared physically older than Lu, even though she had actually been younger. His young "sister" Plant's emotional maturity might have been roughly equivalent to Lu's. He hoped that someone had hugged her, when she needed hugging. He believed Rem would have, if she could.

He gently lifted Lu, who was still sobbing in her sleep. He carried her back to the room where he'd entered, looking for Doc.

Doc turned from a window, and relaxed visibly when he saw them.

"Where shall I...?" Vash wondered.

"This way," Doc said.

He led Vash back upstairs to the girl's room. They gently tucked her into her own bed. Then they left her room, leaving the door unlatched and slightly open.

Vash finally wiped some of his tears from his face. He still felt moisture on his neck, from the little girl's tears. Unshed tears remained in his eyes.

"Thank you," Doc said softly, his voice still hoarse.

Vash nodded. "I had to try," he said gently. His own voice was somewhat hoarse from so much crying. "How are you? This can't be any easier for you than it is for her, or her father. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"You've already done a lot," Doc said, "by helping Lu."

"She lost her mother," Vash said softly. "I know how that feels."

Vash bent his long frame just enough to rest his natural hand on Doc's shoulder in a comforting gesture. He ignored the mental image of how humorous that might look, with Doc being so short that his head was below Vash's waistline.

It crossed his mind to mention that he had a sister, who had died about two years before he'd ever existed. He never had an opportunity to know Tessla, just as none shall have any opportunity to know Lu's baby brother. He and Knives had become so deeply estranged that it was almost as if the friendly brother he'd known as a child had died. And then there was the endless pain of losing Rem... his biological mother had probably died in the Great Fall, also.

As far as he knew, he and Knives were the only survivors from the specific ship upon which they had lived.

However, Vash chose not to say anything of his own griefs. That might sound selfish and uncaring. He wished to show Doc love, not selfishness.

"You lost your sister years ago, and today you've lost her child and grandchild," Vash said, gently and respectfully acknowledging the other man's losses. "I mourn with you, my friend. Your niece, Leta, was a fine woman. She could brighten anyone's day, simply by walking into a room. I shall miss her, as will all others who knew her."

Doc nodded. He stood stiffly for a moment. Then he sighed.

"It's getting late," he said. "I think the best prescription for all of us is sleep. Please, stay here tonight, instead of going to the crew quarters on the ship. Lu may need you again when she wakes."

"I'll crash on the couch, then," Vash said agreeably.

"Thank you, again," Doc said. "I'll be with Dustin. There's a comfortable couch in there, just long enough for one of my stature. He may need more medication when he wakes."

"Rest well," Vash wished him.

"You, too," Doc said.

Doc walked wearily toward his nephew-in-law's room, and Vash turned to get his bag.

Vash had not expected to spend the evening comforting a grieving family. However, his life had seldom gone as expected. He discovered that there was some comfort in not being alone with such grief.

He resolved to remain with them, as long as he could be of assistance.


	3. Troubles

_**Note**_ _: I do not own Trigun, "Vash 'the Stampede'" nor Doc, nor any of the other canon Trigun characters. They all belong to the incomparable Mr. Yasuhiro Nightow._

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 **Friend in Need**

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 **Chapter 3: Troubles**

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 _Star Year 0091, month 9 day 21, Nouve Town_

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Vash walked around a corner to find himself facing two other people.

A stocky red-faced man stood behind a slender youth. His left arm was pressed across the younger man's throat. The older man had "salt and pepper" hair (with noticeably more salt than pepper). He was holding his gun against the side of the youth's head. The gun the man held was dark grey, with no frills. A basic, practical revolver which looked as if it had seen some use.

Another gun lay on the surface of the dusty side street, in front of them and slightly to Vash's left. This gun was plated with a vivid green chrome, and had many fancy thorny vine designs etched into it. The handle, also, was elaborately carved... and it appeared to be made of either aged ivory, or else a synthetic imitation. Actually, there was so much carving in the handle that it nearly had to be a synthetic material. If not, it would be too fragile.

The suns blazed down, mercilessly shedding excesses of both light and heat.

The slight breeze was weak, but sufficient. Vash could smell dirt, sweat, sour beer, and various aromas associated with Thoma. He could also smell biochemical evidence of human emotions, the strongest of which were currently anger, sorrow, and fear. He had a pretty good idea of who was giving off which scent, with respect to the anger and the fear. The sorrow was a mystery, which might (or might not) become understood.

Vash's hand strayed toward his revolver. He kept walking toward them, without pause.

"What's going on here?" Vash asked, politely, through a friendly smile.

"Mind your own business, Dirt Bag," the older man shouted, "or you'll die right along with Scrawny here."

"But he's just a kid," Vash protested. "I'm sure he's learned his lesson -"

Bang!

Vash quickly dodged, jumping aside and to his right. To his surprise, he had not moved quickly enough. He felt something jar his prosthetic against his stump.

"Aw, man! There's no need to be so angry," Vash whined. "Haven't you ever considered love or peace?"

Bang!

"I've known love," the stocky man growled as he fired. "That cost me my peace."

Bang-bang bang!

Vash continued dodging, needing more than his usual level of acrobatics. His artificial limb wasn't responding properly, and it threw him slightly off balance. The man behind that gun was unusually fast for an ordinary human. Underestimating him had already cost Vash part of the functionality of his prosthetic. He did not intend to repeat that mistake, by underestimating this man again.

"Can't we talk about this?" Vash said, verbally prodding at the man.

Bang!

Vash did another flip, and landed beside the pair with one foot firmly planted on the youth's gun. He deftly removed the gun from the older man's hand (using his natural hand). He stomped on the grizzled man's foot, while still standing on the fallen gun with his other foot. The man yelped and winced. The youth wriggled free.

"You might want to go somewhere else for awhile," Vash told the youth.

The younger man did not wait for further encouragement. The dust kicked up from the street, by his rapid retreat, quickly became the only evidence he had ever been there.

Except for his gun, upon which Vash still stood.

The older man spewed out a stream of incredibly rude insults and curses. Almost without pausing for breath, he added slurs on Vash's ancestry, as he imagined it might be. He followed up with excessively rude (and anatomically impossible) suggested activities, before Vash could slip a word in edgewise.

Vash found himself moderately surprised. There was a great deal of venom in the man, and the creativity involved in perpetuating that long line of insults (without any repeats) also made an impression. If this man could be persuaded to turn his creativity and energy toward a better purpose than hounding the youth, or using profanities... something like love and peace...

"You still haven't told me what happened," Vash reminded him politely. It cost him some effort, but he kept his amusement out of his voice when he spoke to the man.

The man took a deep breath and said, "That -" ... followed by an even more venomous collection of ruder insults, curses, slurs on ancestry, and anatomically impossible suggested activities.

Vash patiently waited until the man's words finally slowed.

"Such hurtful words!" Vash exclaimed, with exaggerated sadness. Then he sobered. "I understand that you're not happy with him, nor with me for helping him. But what happened that made you so angry?"

"You're not part of his gang?" The man said, obviously surprised.

"As far as I know, I've never seen him before today," Vash said honestly.

"You look about the same age," the man said. "I thought you'd come looking for him."

"No," Vash said. He chose not to mention that he was much older than he looked.

"You're dressed as flashy as that lot, though in a different color," the man said grudgingly. "Maybe you're not with him."

Vash remained silent, not wishing to set off another torrent of profanity.

There was a brief gust of wind, carrying the usual scents along with anger and sorrow. The scent of fear was gone, along with the youth who had carried it.

The man's face went through a few contortions, before settling on an odd blend of grief and outrage.

"He seduced my only daughter," The man finally said, his voice breaking. "Worse, he denounced her for a whore and abandoned her when she found herself pregnant with his child. But he didn't stop there. Oh no, that wasn't enough for the likes of him!"

The man spat, cleared his throat, and continued grimly.

"He _also_ stole everything of value from us, while he was smooth-talking my poor daughter," he said. "We didn't realize he was responsible for things going missing, until after he'd left town. Most of that stuff could be replaced, in time. Not my dead wife's locket, though. It contained the only photograph we had of her."

Vash opened his mouth, but then he obeyed the other's gesture requesting silence.

"My eldest son was our town's sheriff," the angry man added. "My younger son was his deputy. When they went to ask for the locket, that scrawny dirt bag shot them. The sheriff, my older boy, is dead at his hand. My younger boy may never walk again. How will my son take care of his wife and children now?"

"Aw, man!" Vash said, belatedly remembering to release his hold on the gunman. He also returned the man's pistol as he spoke. "I'm so sorry! I had no idea. I'll find him, and somehow I'll stop him from hurting anybody else. If possible, I'll also find your locket and return it to you."

The angry flush returned to the man's face. "Yeah, sure you will, you -"

Vash didn't wait around for the man to run out of insults, again. Instead, he quickly bent and picked up the youth's glaringly green gun. Then he leapt to the nearest low rooftop, and began racing in the direction he'd seen the young man go.

The trail had nearly gone cold. Thankfully, leaping across rooftops helped Vash to make up for enough of the lost time. He saw the youth going into a tavern, in a rougher district on the far side of the town. Vash backed up one building, and then jumped back down to ground level where he was out of the line of sight from the tavern's windows.

He took a deep breath, and then swaggered into view. He walked boldly to the tavern and ordered a drink. He watched the youth out of the corner of his eye. The younger man had been surrounded by a group of his peers, at a table toward the back. One had looked up when Vash entered, and then turned back toward his companions.

His erstwhile companion had not exaggerated. Each member of the gang wore something with either that same garish green or else a mustardy yellow. Some wore both colors.

It wasn't long before the youth he'd rescued came to stand beside him at the bar.

"Been in town long?" the younger man said casually.

"No, just arrived."

Vash took a small sip of his drink, though he made it appear as if he'd taken in more.

"Hoped I might find you," he added, and pulled the youth's chrome-plated revolver out of his pocket. The one with the vivid, garish green tinting to its chrome. "Is this yours?"

The youth snatched his decorated gun from Vash's grasp, and put it back into its holster.

"A man like you could be useful," the youth said thoughtfully, as if the idea has only just occurred to him as he spoke.

"Doing what?" Vash inquired. He turned toward the other with a carefully crafted expression of innocent yet polite interest.

"Stopping men like the one you stopped earlier," he said tensely.

The youth took a deep breath, and then leaned against the bar in an exaggeratedly casual pose. Coincidentally, that left one of his hands very near to Vash's drink. He began to use broad gestures with his other hand, as he continued speaking.

"The guy is a retired preacher, or some nonsense like that, who's recently turned into a bounty-hunter," the youth said. "I hear he's related to a sheriff, or something, too. Thinks he's above the law, and can boss around anybody he &*%# pleases. He's a sight too big for his britches, as granny used to say. Head too big for his hat, too, most likely."

The youth continued on, with increasingly less polite idioms for arrogance.

Vash was mildly surprised that the fellow had it in him to remember so many different variations on the theme. Although it was possible that such long-winded insults had become a custom since he'd last visited the town.

"There's a bounty for you?" Vash said, sounding shocked and impressed, when the younger man paused for breath.

"Aye," he said proudly. "That &*%! is greedy, what he is. Proud and greedy, and nuthin' else. I hope you killed him?"

Vash slowly turned back toward his drink. He'd heard something plop gently into it as the youth spoke. He lifted the glass to his mouth, but he did not drink anything. He tipped the glass as if he did, though. Instead of drinking, he barely inhaled... just enough to catch the scent. He was careful to avoid inhaling much, in case there might be drugged fumes. Sure enough, he could smell something else in the glass besides the whiskey he had ordered.

He lowered his glass thoughtfully.

"The man I saw you with earlier? He's unlikely to trouble you further," Vash said calmly.

He pretended to take another sip of his drink, but did not say anything about his own plans for this clearly delinquent youth.

"I'll drink to that!" the other said enthusiastically. "Bartender! We're celebrating. A round for the house, on me!"

Vash smiled and lifted his drink, as if in a salute to the youth. Aside from that gesture, he ignored the cheers that rose from the youth's announcement. Instead, he paid attention to where each of the youth's companions had distributed themselves. It wasn't difficult, given how brightly colored their chosen attire was. He knew a set-up when he saw one. That set-up gave the lie to the youth's words, and further increased the likelihood that the other man had told the truth.

Vash's own instincts and senses had already convinced him of both. Current circumstances were simply additional confirmation of what he already knew. Several of the youth's accomplices had reached key positions, and were growing tense as if preparing to do something.

However, there were many other people filling the tavern. Those others seemed to be completely uninvolved, with either the youth or his gang. As innocent bystanders (or by-sitters?), the tavern's other customers were in nearly as much danger from the youth and his gang as Vash himself was. They could all too easily get caught in the crossfire, and then become injured or even killed.

Something needed to change, before the fire burning on this short fuse reached any dynamite.

"I'll drink to that," Vash said softly, as if he meant the youth's declaration of buying drinks instead of responding to his own thoughts. However, as if contradicting his own words, he pushed his drink away. "Would you be inclined to discuss ... possibilities ... somewhere shlightly lessh public?"

"Now that, my man, is a great idea," the youth said, linking his left arm through Vash's right. "Come on, let's go upstairs!"

Vash reached out and took hold of his drink with his left hand, before the youth pulled him away from the bar. He saw the youngster signal his accomplices, who hastily moved toward a back stairway as he led Vash toward the front stairs. From the corner of his eye, Vash saw several hungry grins on their faces as the gang members moved out of sight.

'Aww, man,' Vash thought silently, 'why do they _always_ insist on doing these things the hard way?'

He played the happy drunken fool, allowing himself to be cheerfully led up the stairs. At least going upstairs would get these juvenile delinquents away from the numerous people who were happily drinking themselves into a stupor on the ground level. Hopefully, at this hour, there would be few people upstairs.

"Say, pal," the other said, "have you got a light?" He waved an unlit cigarette merrily, as he stopped walking.

The youth had stopped their progress upstairs on the first landing, "coincidentally" a few steps too low for Vash to see anything happening on the upper floor.

"Don't shmoke," Vash slurred, with an innocently cheerful grin.

"Aw, come on, pal," the youth whined. "Gimme a light!"

"Shtill don't shmoke," Vash repeated, slurring his words only slightly more than the prior time. He held his glass up against his mouth, and tipped it as if he were drinking. He sighed as he lowered his glass. "Shorry."

"Really don't shmoke?" the youth said, managing to sound both disappointed and hopeful at the same time.

"Nope," Vash said slowly. "Never mush liked the shmell."

"Ha ha!" the youth responded. "You're right. They don't shmell sho great. Maybe I should shtop... quit." He flung the cigarette away.

"Maybe you should!" Vash said, and laughed. He began to sway, just enough to pull the other slightly off-balance.

"Let's go on up," the youth said, suddenly sounding considerably less slurred.

"Yesh, letsh," Vash said. He grinned lopsidedly as he swayed in the other direction.

They reached the top of the stairs, just in time to see a door pull closed. Vash permitted himself to be led through the hallway to the suspect door, swaying as he went.

Sure enough, as soon as the door was opened, and he'd been encouraged about halfway through it, the rest of the gang tried to jump him. Vash was thankful that his Plant reflexes gave him an edge. He'd glanced around, as soon as the door opened. He'd seen that the window was wide open, and his grin had widened ever so slightly.

When they jumped at him, he also jumped - out the window.

Unwilling to release what they'd thought would be easy prey, they began shooting at the wall and through the open window.

Vash jumped up and held onto the tavern's sign, which, unfortunately, was loose. Down it came, with a loud clatter. It dumped Vash unceremoniously onto the porch roof... which had many loose tiles. One cracked and broke away when Vash landed on it, on his left side. Other tiles came loose in turn. The fractured tiles formed a cascade of broken ceramics, which looked almost like an oddly colored waterfall. Vash somersaulted and leaped down to the ground.

Oops! One of them must have suspected he wasn't drunk or drugged, before he was led upstairs. Vash found himself staring down the business end of a sawed-off shotgun. It had the same thorny vine etchings as the youth's pistol. The fellow behind it wore the same garish green that was so popular with the members of the gang.

Boom! The shotgun fired.

Vash back-flipped, and then leaped back up onto the porch roof. From there, he sprang to the top of the building.

The gang was still in the upstairs room, and began firing through the ceiling. Vash had to scramble yet again. This time, he let himself down in front of a different room. That window was also wide open.

"Ah, sorry," he said hastily, to the entangled couple on the bed, as he dashed across the room. He jumped through the door, and quickly closed it behind him, feeling heat in his face.

He hurried through the hallway. He immediately flattened himself against the wall by the doorway to the room where most of the gang's members were still firing at the ceiling.

Vash grinned as he counted off the last of their ammunition, and their guns began yielding clicks instead of bullets. He rushed in, and began using the butt of his pistol to knock them out. Only one managed to reload quickly enough that Vash had to shoot his arm. When they were all unconscious, he began using their belts and gun belts to tie up their wrists and ankles.

At first, he laid them sideways on the bed. Then the bed broke. So he moved the mattress onto the floor, and finished by laying them all out sideways on the mattress, so their bodies were cushioned but their feet rested on the floor. Then he went back out the window, to pursue the one with the shotgun.

The resulting destruction would not endear him to the tavern owner, but at least going upstairs had prevented anyone outside of the gang from getting hurt. When all was said and done, most members of the gang were only mildly injured and dazed.

He searched through the outlaws' possessions, and found the locket. From what one of the tied-up gang members said, they'd not yet found anyone willing to buy it for a high enough price to satisfy their leader.

He opened the locket, and saw the photograph and inscription inside. Tears welled up in his eyes. He knew, too well, how much it hurt to have a friend die. He could only imagine how deeply the man must have felt the loss of his wife.

And now, courtesy of that inscription, he knew the man's name.

Vash delivered every member of the gang, one at a time, to the front porch of the local sheriff's office. He credited the man who had previously caught the youth for the arrest, in a note left sticking out of the young man's shirt pocket.

After carrying each of them to the sheriff's office, Vash had quietly slipped away while the dust was still settling. His prosthetic had been further damaged in the ruckus with the outlaw gang, but at least nobody had died.

Vash soon found the hotel where the man who'd lost that locket was staying. Vash fibbed to gain temporary access to the man's room. He left the locket on the man's pillow. After that, he'd sneaked through a nearby room which was being cleaned.

The suns had slipped low enough to the horizon to be completely hidden by nearby buildings. Vash slipped out through the window of the empty room, and moved along a narrow ledge until he was near the man's room's window. He waited, patiently impatient. He wanted to make sure the man received the gift, and that nothing was discovered or removed by anyone else. The man had already lost so much...

He heard someone enter the rented room. He briefly peeked through the window, as he heard the beginning of a lengthy stream of profanity. The man seemed shocked to discover his most deeply prized possession restored to him.

Vash pulled back, as the man began to look around, so that he would not be discovered.

Then he heard sobbing.

Vash peered through the window, again, and saw the man clutching the locket to his chest. Then he silently slipped away.


	4. Repairs

_**Note**_ _: I do not own Trigun, "Vash 'the Stampede'" nor Doc, nor any of the other canon Trigun characters. They all belong to the incomparable Mr. Yasuhiro Nightow._

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 **Friend in Need**

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 **Chapter 4: Repairs**

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 _Star Year 0091, month 12 day 18, Melanice Crossing_

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Vash regretted that the meeting would be today, of all days. Yet circumstances had left little option. He needed a new prosthetic, again. Today was the time Doc had set to meet.

It might be difficult for Doc. This need to be away from his family, only two years after his niece's death, could hurt him afresh. He didn't know how much healing, for a loss so dear, could happen in so short a time. For Doc's, Dustin's and Lu's sake, he hoped they had healed more swiftly than he would have.

If only he'd been more careful, this meeting would not have become necessary. He regretted that he'd not been more cautious.

Yet... how could he have anticipated that any ordinary human would move so swiftly? That man with the unusual skill for a lengthy stream of profanity had an even more uncommon swiftness to his movements. His clothing had been odd, also. All black, with white crosses at his sleeve hems standing out in stark contrast.

Most of his clothing was similar to what anyone else would wear, but the fabrics used for his were all black. The only exception was those white crosses, one of which appeared on each sleeve near its hem. It was odd, but Vash did not yet have enough information to put together the few informational "puzzle pieces" he had. So he mentally set them aside. Whenever he obtained more pieces, which seemed pertinent to that puzzle, he would examine them further.

Shortly after the day he had met that unusual man, and fought the youthful gang who had wronged the man's family, Vash's artificial limb had become erratic in its movements. Little by little, it grew worse. Eventually, it locked up entirely. So, somewhat reluctantly, Vash had used the small radio he wore on his left earlobe to contact Seeds.

He always felt he was giving them a poor return for their generosity, which made him reluctant to request anything else.

Today was the appointed time to meet and receive a replacement.

He went to the agreed upon hotel, and asked for a room. Then he asked after Doc.

"Oh yeah, he's here," the desk clerk said. "In room 304. He told us he'd come to meet someone, and to freely give that information. In fact, give me back your key."

"Why?" Vash asked politely, though he extended the key as he asked.

"You match the description," she said, accepting his key and extending another. "Sorry that I didn't recognize you sooner. He rented two rooms. The adjoining room is yours."

"Thank you," Vash said, accepting the newly offered key.

He smiled and nodded politely, and then climbed the stairs to the room Doc had reserved for him. It was clean and neat, if sparsely furnished. However, that didn't trouble him. The floor could hold his bag, and it would be a treat to sleep on a surface softer than the desert sands. For the moment, nothing else mattered.

The door between the rooms opened, to reveal the tall burly shape of Greg. He wore a bright green shirt with black jeans, as he often did.

Vash nearly twitched, remembering another occasion when he'd met people wearing green shirts. However, Greg's wasn't the same garish hue as the thorny vine gang's had been.

"Vash," he said, and nodded respectfully.

"Hello Greg," Vash said amiably. "Are you traveling with Doc?"

"Yeah," Greg said. "He has enough to worry about, without being distracted by robbers or other thugs. So I look after him, when he needs to leave home."

"Thank you," Vash said softly. "It's good to know he's in such capable hands."

Greg flexed his large hands, and shrugged. "I know I have a temper, but mostly I'd prefer not to fight. I hope my size will scare them enough that I won't need to fight, or else land in a position where I might lose my temper."

"I understand," Vash said, "better than you may ever know."

"Yeah, you would," Greg said thoughtfully. Then he gestured to the doorway he'd been filling, as he stepped out of it. "Doc's been waiting for you."

"I'll go see him, then," Vash said. "Thanks again."

"No problem," Greg said. "You're family, too."

Vash clapped Greg's shoulder, with his natural hand, as he passed him.

A small blur rushed across the room, squealing "Vash!" and took hold of his right hand.

"Lu?" Vash said, surprised.

"Yes!" she said, smiling up at him.

Vash got down onto one knee, and smiled at the small girl. She'd be nearly five now. Her eyes held a maturity beyond most children of the same age.

"How have you been?" Vash asked, smiling in response to her smile.

"I still miss Mama," Lu said, solemnly. "And I'm sorry. I forgot to thank you for taking care of me, right after she... after we lost her."

"It's good to see you again," Vash said, embarrassed. "Don't worry about thanking me. I'm just glad to see you're doing better."

"I still get very sad sometimes," she said, as if confessing a fault.

"There's nothing wrong with that," he said.

"Papa's always sad," Lu said. "It's like his heart went away, when Mama did."

"Something broke inside of your Papa, Lu," Doc said gently, as he walked up to them. "We hope it will heal, in time. Until then, all we can do is be patient with him. I need to borrow Vash from you, for a little while. You can finish your turn with him later."

"I want to help you take care of him," Lu said. Her voice was the high, thin voice of a child, yet there was no whine in it.

"We talked about this," Doc began, in an "I'm the adult" tone of voice.

"He took care of me," Lu interrupted. "Please, let me help take care of him. It's only fair."

"Thank you for wanting to take care of me, Lu," Vash said. "Right now, though, I think your uncle can probably take care of me the best."

"I can still help!" she insisted. "I can hold your other hand, while he takes care of you."

"I don't look very good, under my shirt and coat," Vash said, feeling heat in his cheeks. "Sometimes when people see those parts of me, they run away."

"I won't run," Lu said, as firmly as humanly possible, with her childish voice. "Please..."

Lu looked at Doc, her whole heart in her face. Doc stood on one foot, and then the other, and finally looked up at Vash. His expression said it would be Vash's decision.

Vash said to Lu, "Let me take off my glove."

Lu let go of his hand, looking mildly suspicious.

He began to undo the various buckles with his teeth. His prosthetic wasn't working well enough to be of any use.

"I can..." Lu began.

"Let him, Lu," Doc said.

She subsided, frowning slightly.

Vash finished undoing the fastenings on his right glove, and worked his hand out of it. He stretched that scarred hand out in front of Lu, palm down.

She looked at the broad scar on his hand, and gasped. "Does it hurt?" she said.

"Not like it did when it was injured," he said honestly. "That's only a scar."

"If it doesn't hurt, can I touch it?" she asked, with a child's frank curiosity.

"If you're sure that you want to," Vash said. He wasn't accustomed to anyone wanting to touch him, after seeing any of his scars.

But then, he reminded himself, she was likely far too young for feminine sensibilities.

She touched his hand's scar with surprising gentleness. She traced its shape with her fingertips, and felt both the middle and the edges. Then she looked up at him.

"Under my shirt and coat," he said slowly, "most of my body looks like this big scar on the back of my hand. That's why I think you'd be happier if you don't see me. It's so ugly that I get embarrassed. Besides, I don't want to give you nightmares."

"I won't run," Lu promised softly, "and I don't care about bad dreams. Please, let me help Uncle take care of you."

Vash looked at Doc again, and saw a barely perceptible nod.

"Well..." Vash began, mostly inclined to try again to talk her out of it. But when he saw her face, so hopeful, his resolve began to fade away.

"All right," he said, "though if you want to leave, anytime while Doc's working on me, it's okay. We'll still be friends."

"I won't," she insisted. "I'm a _big_ girl now. If you can be brave, then so can I."

The child reclaimed his hand, and accompanied him and her uncle into the other room.

There were two beds. Doc's surgical equipment was laid out, ready for use. Those medical implements were set up on the left side of the bed which could be approached from either side. It would be easy for Lu to sit on a stool to his right, and hold his hand all she wished, while Doc operated on his left arm.

"I'll need to use this hand to change my clothes," he explained.

She nodded, and, with a reluctant expression, slowly let go of his hand.

Vash turned his back to her, but made no other concession to modesty. He unfastened his coat, followed by the leather body armor he wore beneath it. He kept on everything from his waist down, but removed everything from his upper body.

Doc and Lu watched. He could smell the man's concern, and the child's curiosity.

"It's not moving for you at all, is it?" Doc said thoughtfully, as he watched.

"No," Vash said. "Not since a day when I had two gunfights. One was in the street, and the other was in a tavern only an hour or so later. During the first, a bullet grazed and jarred it. That's when it began malfunctioning. It was hit again in the second fight, which only made it worse. I heard something, two days later, which might have been an electrical snap or might have been something breaking. It kept growing worse, until it stopped working altogether."

"I'd better check for nerve damage while we're at it," Doc said, "though I hope it's only a mechanical malfunction, such as a short circuit. I brought you a new one, but we might be able to use this one for parts on the next."

"Understood," Vash said, as he turned around.

"Okay, let's get you washed up," Doc said. "Sit down where I can reach you. Lu, pull up a stool and sit on the other side of the bed."

Both Vash and little girl did as Doc instructed.

As Doc was washing him, Lu was staring at his body with astonished eyes.

"How do those scars happen?" she asked.

"Have you ever fallen down and scraped your knee?" Vash said. "Or else cut a finger on the edge of a piece of paper?"

"Yes," Lu said.

"It's sort of like that," Vash said.

"Only much worse," Doc added. "It has to be much worse, before it will leave a scar."

Vash shrugged.

"So you must have been hurt awful bad, lots of times, to get all those scars?" Lu said.

"Yes, he was," Doc said.

"How did you get hurt so bad, so much?" Lu asked.

"Lu," Doc said, in a warning tone of voice.

"It's all right," Vash said to Doc. Then he turned his head toward Lu. "Some people didn't like me very much," he told her.

"How could anybody not like you, Vash?" she said, thoroughly bewildered.

Vash heard a strange sound from Doc, and he could smell his friend's mirth even over the antiseptic cleanser.

"I'm not very popular in several places, Lu," he explained as gently as he could.

"That must mean that they don't know you well enough to like you yet," Lu said loyally.

Vash heard another "coughing fit" from Doc, and resisted the impulse to look at him.

"Some people just don't like much of anybody," Vash said. "They wouldn't even like you, and you are much more likeable than I am."

Lu frowned, and then slowly began to shake her head. "No," she said, "nobody else is nicer than you are. Maybe I will learn how to be that nice, someday. But I haven't learned it yet."

"Time for you to lie down, Vash," Doc said. "I can't reach what I need to reach, when you're sitting up."

"Ok, Doc."

The needful surgery was performed. The child never left his side, nor let go of his hand.

Vash joked with her, partly to ease any discomfort she might feel... and partly to distract himself. She spent most of the time giggling, though she would occasionally look worried or nervous. When Doc finished, Vash suppressed an urge to sigh audibly in relief.

"This version has a few improvements," Doc began.

Vash turned his face enough that Doc wouldn't see him wink at Lu. She grinned, but managed to avoid giggling.

Vash turned his attention back to Doc, and patiently endured the lecture. He was likely to need that information, eventually.

"... and it will use the same bullets as your revolver, so you don't need to carry two different types of ammunition ..."

Vash nodded, pleased that they had taken even that detail into consideration.

...

Later, he sat beside Lu as they watched the suns set through the window.

"Thank you for helping to take care of me," he said softly. "That was very brave of you. I hadn't realized you were such a big girl."

"If I'm really a big girl," she said, "and you're not just being a grown-up saying so, could you call me by my real name, instead of my baby name? Please?"

"I would if I knew what it was," Vash said.

"Luida," she said.

"That's a pretty name," he said.

He offered to shake hands with her, and she accepted.

"Glad to know you, Luida," he said. "I hope we'll be friends for a long time."

She smiled. "I hope we'll be friends forever," she said.


	5. Comfort

_**Note**_ _: I do not own Trigun, "Vash 'the Stampede'" nor Doc, nor any of the other canon Trigun characters. They all belong to the incomparable Mr. Yasuhiro Nightow._

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 **Friend in Need**

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 **Chapter 5: Comfort**

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 _Star Year 0100, month 4 day 18, at Seeds_

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Vash gradually became aware of a regular beeping sound. At first, those beeps sounded terribly distant. Slowly, the sound had seemed to grow closer, until it was almost painfully loud as it echoed through his head. He recognized the beeps as the type of sound which comes from medical monitoring equipment.

In a similar manner, the sensation of a smaller hand in his was faint... at first. So faint he thought that, perhaps, he only imagined it. Yet the gentle touch of another hand slowly became more solid and real, even as the medical beeping had seemed to draw nearer.

He felt oddly disconnected from what he sensed, and from his body. Vash recognized that part, at least. It sometimes happened when he was either extremely weary, or else recovering from a significant injury. The beeping equipment suggested the latter.

He was caught, somewhere between sleeping and waking. He was mostly lucid, but when he was in this state... dreams and reality could overlap in a manner which made each indistinguishable from the other. He also felt as if he were floating, which, added to everything else, made him feel slightly disoriented. Sedatives might be involved, this time, causing the floating sensation.

Opening his eyes was currently beyond his ability, but he could passively detect scents, sounds, and other clues about his situation. He concentrated on absorbing all available details of his surroundings. Thus, he detected the pressure of an IV in the skin of his arm, and the scents of antiseptic and other medical supplies.

No doubt about it, he was in an infirmary or hospital somewhere.

"Please, Vash," a voice said, so softly it that was nearly a whisper, "don't leave me... us. I - we love you. We need you. Please, don't die. Please God, _don't let him die!_ "

He felt her tear as it dropped onto his arm, even before he heard her soft sob. More tears followed, dropping softly onto his forearm like a gentle rain.

Recent memory returned, hazy at first... then painfully clear.

Knives had killed forty men from Seeds. They had learned of Knives' whereabouts, and sent their best men in an effort to stop him before he murdered anyone else. Knives had eliminated them, using Plant power. He didn't even leave any bodies for their kin to bury and mourn.

Seeds had informed him, through his ear loop radio. He had quickly come to them.

"Stop," he had said. "Don't do another thing. Relax. I will take care of him. I will settle things with him. Don't worry. I'm a lot sturdier than I look."

He had gathered a few supplies, such as extra ammunition. Then he had left Seeds, to go in search of Knives. He remembered that Luida, who had grown to be about 14, had followed him for a while as he'd walked away. He had neither stopped nor turned, and, eventually, she had turned back toward Seeds.

He had continued his journey, and found his brother. They had fought. As often before, their conflict had ended with an impasse. However, both had been injured.

Vash had watched, quietly, as his brother had limped off into the open desert. He sensed that Knives had a purpose for going in that direction. There was a place, somewhere out there, where his brother expected to be safely sheltered. He would recover in that refuge, nursing his wounds and his hatred, for at least a little while. Ordinary humans would have a reprieve, at least while Knives recovered.

After Knives became lost to his view in the distance, Vash had quietly turned his own steps toward Seeds. He was carefully quiet in both body and mind. Well, especially in mind and emotions, anything which would alert Knives to his direction or location. He recalled his ability to suppress his own pain fading away, between his physical weakness and the knowledge that the crisis was over (even if only temporarily). He began stumbling as he continued trying to walk in the slippery desert sands. After a while, he had collapsed. After that, he knew no more.

Someone from Seeds must have followed him, after Luida turned back. Or, perhaps, she had persuaded someone to follow and at least learn the outcome of his efforts.

He had left Seeds enough times before to know that being followed, by them, was not the usual custom. Luida might have found the right ear to fill, and she was smart enough to find efficiently persuasive words.

This medical area had some hints of the scents of Seeds, if those details were real and not part of a wishful dream.

The voice, which spoke those words so softly, so gently, and in such anguish of soul, was Luida's. So was the smaller hand in his, and so were the tears he felt landing on his arm. Unless those details were a dream...

Everyone in Seeds was his friend, though a few were closer friends. Doc and Luida were among those few who were dearer to him than others. As it so happened, Doc had been rising in influence within Seeds. One of the aging Council members was rumored to be considering recommending Doc to take his place. Doc was a good man, who would surely do right by everyone if he did become a Council member.

Vash's wandering thoughts were brought back to the present, as he felt his hand being lifted. The girl was leaning her damp cheek against the back of his hand. He could feel more clearly the echoes of her pain and concern through that contact. He also sensed, if he were not dreaming it, a surprising amount of affection.

It surprised him that she would be so deeply concerned for him. He didn't feel worthy of so much attention. However, she was ... was it 13 or 14? At that age, everything was felt deeply. That must be all it was: just the intensity of early adolescence.

The idea of adolescent emotions made more sense than that the girl's friendship might have grown into anything ... else. She was still so very young...

The feel of her hand in his, and her tears, might be only a dream. However, it might not. Perhaps if he made an effort, he could learn which. It was slightly possible that an effort might help him to awaken.

As far as he knew, it would do no harm to acknowledge her presence.

Vash concentrated again. It seemed to take hours, although he knew it was probably only minutes or seconds. Slowly, he forced his sluggish body to obey his will. His fingers closed around her hand and squeezed gently.

She gasped.

"Vash?" she asked, hopefully.

He didn't try to open his eyes. The efforts needed to curl his fingers around her hand, and squeeze it, had exhausted him. He didn't like being so weak. However, he knew enough to avoid pushing himself too far beyond the limits of his strength, when there was no danger near. He must rest and recover, just until he was able to stagger out on his own feet, under his own power.

"Vash?" Luida repeated. A blend of concern and relief was strongly evident in her voice.

He gave her the mental / emotional equivalent of a gentle pat on the shoulder. With her tiny size, she was somewhat oversensitive to anything resembling "being treated as a child." Remembering that, he did not think in terms of patting her on the top of her head.

As he was somewhat aware of her emotions, she also seemed to have an unusually high sensitivity (for an ordinary human). She sensed something of his emotional response, even if she was not fully aware of all he'd meant to share.

"Thank you," she whispered, as his hand relaxed.

Vash wasn't sure if her gratitude was meant for him, or for God. In either case, the hand squeeze had served its purpose. The girl was more at peace.

He still wasn't sure if her presence was real, or a dream. Her presence was possible, as it was within the scope of the friendship they shared. So was her holding of his hand.

Sleep beckoned, and Vash's ability to retain even this imperfect amount of consciousness was eroding. He tried to smile, but wasn't sure if it worked. He felt himself sinking back into complete unconsciousness.

The medical beeping began to move away, a reversal of its earlier approach.

Her voice followed him, as if down an echoing corridor, as he began to drift into sleep.

Had she said, "I will always love you, Vash"? No, she must have said something else with a similar cadence to it. Only his dreaming mind would shape such words, from a misguided wish to soothe the ache of loneliness in his soul.

It was comforting to know he had such a loyal friend... at least, for as long as she lived.

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 **Author's note** : _You can find the situation where Knives "erased" 40 men from Seeds, as told by Luida, in Trigun Omnibus 3 pages 270-273. Although the earlier chapters of this tale are drawn almost entirely from my own imagination, this chapter is based upon canon events._

 _The manner in which Luida told of that situation, and the picture of her reaching after Vash, are poignant. Some of the things she said to Vash when he awoke after fighting the puppet master (and how she said them), have a similar feel. These things, with a few other details, suggest (to me) that Luida may have been_ extremely _fond of Mr. "Vash the Stampede." If so, Luida chose to keep her affection for Vash private, instead of voicing her feelings as Jessica did... or hoping for reciprocation, as Meryl may have done._

 _That interpretation inspired my poem "Luida's Lament," and her words and behavior whenever she appears in any of my Trigun fanfiction stories._

 _Except for Doc, Luida is the only one of Vash's friends or acquaintance who never yelled at him nor hit him. She knew exactly how to scold Vash out of blaming himself for crimes Knives' minions had done. She was always respectful toward Vash, and tearfully blamed herself for being afraid to do more for him. She knew Vash's history with Seeds, well enough to describe it to Wolfwood (and all manga readers) in some detail. She also had some understanding of Vash's emotions and intentions, enough to scold Wolfwood when he made an incorrect guess. She mourned that Vash was "so alone."_

 _When Knives destroyed communication satellites, and Brad spoke with Vash about it, Vash asked that Brad not tell anyone... except Luida. Vash worried that others might panic, but he trusted Luida - both with the information, and that she would be able to handle it and deal with it appropriately._

 _It's a pity that Luida didn't appear in the anime. As a result, many people never learned of this minor, yet significant, canon character._


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